


Perks

by Shutka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Lucifer's Cage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shutka/pseuds/Shutka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Negotiations with the Devil rarely go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perks

**Author's Note:**

> One of these days I might manage to write actual sex. I'm working up to it. Veeeeery slowly.

"You're not riding in me," is Sam's one iron-clad condition.

Lucifer considers this. He shrugs, like it's all the same to him.

"Who am I riding then?" he asks, softly, reasonably. Sam's skin itches. Lucifer snaps his fingers as if he's just had the best idea ever. "Do I get a pony?"

Sam rolls his eyes, then gives Lucifer's body a significant onceover, though it's not really a body, not here. Within the Cage he still looks like his old vessel, though Sam remembers seeing the real him, again and again, an afterimage burned into the back of his eyelids for a fraction of a second before they shrivel to dust and thick blood runs down his cheeks like tears. Banishing the memories costs more than a little effort and by the time he's done Lucifer is casting a knowing smirk his way. Sam holds his gaze, refusing to back down, but Lucifer still looks like he's savoring this, like he's having _fun_.

Sam tells himself he can do this. He's lost count of how many times he's had to repeat it.

Lucifer uses Sam's distraction to take a step towards him, then another. His thumbs are hooked loosely in his jean pockets, his shoulders - sloping comfortably, but Sam has never fallen for the harmless act, not even that first night in his bed when Lucifer put his hand on Sam's shoulder instead of Jess.

"Well, that's doable," he tells Sam, still in that velvety voice. "I could bring back our friend Nick here from his nappy-changing, charmed life in Heaven, and then you can convince him to lend himself to me so that I may save the world. I'm sure you can be very persuasive, Sam, though I confess to some curiosity as to how you are going to explain that you refused to do what you're asking of him."

Sam has no answer to that. Lucifer bounces on his feet, looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"Of course, I would never be as powerful as I'd be if I had you," he gestures at Sam, and his hand barely misses Sam's chest. Sam suppresses the urge to step back.

"Out of the question," he bites out. The Cage's walls are starting to close in on him, and it's too easy to remember here. No, that's not right, it's too hard not to remember, not remembering takes effort wherever Sam is. "You know our conditions. Are you in or not?"

Lucifer inclines his head, and for a moment Sam honestly thinks he'll refuse. He has to know that he and Dean are planning to lock him back in after Amara is dealt with, and in his place Sam would rather let all of Creation burn if it meant not spending eternity in this place. But Lucifer is not Sam, or maybe he feels he can outwit them this time - it's what Sam and Dean are banking on.

"We have an agreement," he answers, sounding like he's humoring Sam, but this is good enough. Sam nods tersely, and gets ready to break the paper string on his wrist, the signal for Dean to pull him out.

Lucifer's hand wraps around Sam's elbow and Sam's fingers tremble where they're hooked behind the twisted ribbon of inked scroll, so close to escape.

"Shall we seal the deal the old-fashioned way?"

Lucifer's breathing against Sam's face, feverishly hot, irregular and eager. Sam twists away, but all of a sudden there's a wall at his back, here in this perfect prison that doesn't care who it traps. Lucifer grabs him by the backs of the thighs and settles in between Sam's legs. It's just like before, Lucifer spending an age keeping his distance, only cutting the occasional barb at Sam until Sam could almost believe he'd only ever fucked him to prove a point, to tick off another checkbox on the torture roster, before Lucifer put his hands on Sam with such greed Sam couldn't believe he'd ever thought it was over.

Sam shoves his forearm in Lucifer's throat and pushes, keeping him away. It's like pushing at a mountainside, but Lucifer lets himself be moved.

"You don't lay a finger on me or my brother. That's part of the deal," Sam says, and to his own ears he sounds breathless with rage. Breathless with something, anyway.

"I don't _hurt_ you or Dean," Lucifer points out. His lips ghost over Sam's chin as he speaks. "Or your associates. Or the other archangels. Or any random bystanders. You've been very thorough in your demands, Sam."

Lucifer shifts his grip and slides Sam up against the wall, jagged bits of metal cutting into Sam's back and Lucifer smiling beatifically because that had been the whole point, of course.

Sam remembers what it feels like to be fucked against this wall, how convenient it is that Lucifer is just a bit shorter than him, the dubious comfort of having a wall between him and the rest of hell, the relief that even if he was hurting him at least for a little while Lucifer wasn't _hurting_ him, and the blissful, shameless pleasure of it all, a need and a satisfaction that weren't Sam's fault and that he could surrender to in the moment.

Except he isn't stuck in hell now. He doesn't have to stand this, to snatch at any distraction from reality. His fingers pinch the string, then break it in one swift tug.

Lucifer kisses him. He holds Sam up with one hand, the other gently repositioning Sam's arm until it's wrapped around Lucifer's shoulders. The kiss is a coax, dirty and slow, Lucifer's mobile lips tugging on Sam's until he can't help but open up. It's so familiar it nearly makes Sam nauseous. He pulls Lucifer close, so close neither of them has much room to maneuver, and Lucifer stops kissing him long enough for Sam to look into his eyes, glinting and serious like he's rarely seen them.

Then Lucifer flattens him against the wall and thumbs Sam's jeans open one handed. His face - open-mouthed, unshaven - is trailing damp, scratchy kisses along Sam's neck and underneath his chin while Lucifer lets him stand on his own feet to tuck both hands into the back of Sam's jeans, under the waistline of his underwear. He kneads Sam's ass, lets out a groan of pure appreciation, then reaches lower to squeeze Sam's balls and Sam convulses and almost comes.

He didn't even realize he is hard.

He should have been back already. He shouldn't be letting this happen anyway.

Lucifer is working the tip of one finger into Sam dry, so unhurried that it doesn't even burn, all the rest of him so still against Sam as if even the proximity is quenching some old unfathomable thirst within him. This is familiar too, the strange artlessness that Lucifer eventually brings to all their encounters, as if he's familiar with sex but so new to lust he doesn't know how to hide it, can't hide it after a point. 

"Let go of me," Sam says, and digs his fingers into Lucifer's shoulder blades, wishing he could claw and hook them into the deceptively human flesh. He doesn't expect Lucifer to comply, and for a few moments Lucifer doesn't. Then he stills, stops breathing, and lets go of Sam. Sometimes Lucifer does listen. Sam always hated him for it.

"Have it your way. I'll toe the line," he tells Sam, pointing a finger at him and winking, bouncing back in control of himself with the usual unsettling speed. "But you can't imagine I won't wrangle a few perks here and there. Especially when you make it so easy for me."

Sam looks at him, clothes in disarray, dick hard as a rock and that placid expression that doesn't fit the rest of the image, and he's never wanted to hurt anybody as much as he burns to hurt Lucifer.

"You think you're a rebel?" Sam says, it feels like drawing poison from a wound. "You think you, what, made your own way instead of doing exactly what God wanted you to? Everything you did, your great rebellion, your grand epiphany, everything was because of the Mark of Cain."

That erases the smile right off of Lucifer's face. Sam's not finished.

"You were just a puppet. Someone to carry the burden, just an obedient little soldier. And you reacted exactly how you were supposed to. You weren't strong enough or smart enough to resist."

Lucifer blinks slowly, like a snake. Sam's seen him truly angry only once before, right after they ended up in the Cage, when Lucifer rose to his feet slowly and offered Sam a hand up, and beyond the solicitous gesture that Sam, of course, didn't take, his eyes promised a world of hurt, an eternity of venting his rage on Sam.

This time it's much the same, except under the contained rage there's something else. Confusion, perhaps, though Sam thinks he's probably mistaken.

Then Lucifer smiles smoothly and says, "It's been a pleasure, Sam, as always."

He gives Sam the most patronizing wave in the history of hell, probably, while the Cage blurs around the edges of Sam's vision like an old photograph.

Then Sam is coughing on the floor of the corridor leading to the chapel at St. Mary's Convent under a smashed open window. Dean's thumping his back, his lungs feel like they've been dipped in Tabasco sauce, and the last rags of smoke from the burning herbs they used to establish the connection are still rolling through the open door of the chapel.

"You wouldn't come to. Scared the crap outta me, Sammy," Dean says, giving Sam one last, light pat on the back. His voice sounds like he's been chewing on gravel. "Any trouble?"

Speaking doesn't seem like a good idea right now so Sam shakes his head no.

They have an angel to free from Hell before the real trouble starts up again.


End file.
